


In a Glass, Darkly

by Tales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-22
Updated: 2012-07-22
Packaged: 2017-11-10 12:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/466100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tales/pseuds/Tales
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mirror, mirror on the wall, who's the fairest of them all? Not Severus Snape, that's for sure...</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Glass, Darkly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [windwingswrites](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=windwingswrites).



>   
> **Original Prompt:** Post Hogwarts, Hermione acquires a magical mirror for her personal use (why? how? when?). Just one of those things that bugs you in the bathroom in the morning about your looks and all. But hers is not your regular magical mirror. Somehow, what is supposed to look like her reflection, looks like Severus Snape, talks like Severus Snape and acts like one, too.  
>  **Betas:** [](http://geyer.livejournal.com/profile)[**geyer**](http://geyer.livejournal.com/), [](http://bambu345.livejournal.com/profile)[**bambu345**](http://bambu345.livejournal.com/) and [](http://alwaysjbj.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://alwaysjbj.livejournal.com/)**alwaysjbj**  
>  **Alpha readers:** [](http://madeleone.livejournal.com/profile)[**madeleone**](http://madeleone.livejournal.com/), [](http://savine-snape.livejournal.com/profile)[**savine_snape**](http://savine-snape.livejournal.com/) and [](http://arynwy.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://arynwy.livejournal.com/)**arynwy**

  


"It's all fairly standard," Minerva explained. "As a new member of staff, we ask that you submit your lesson plans for approval two weeks before the beginning of term so that there's ample time to revise them, if need be. However, I'm sure they'll be perfect. You're already well acquainted with the castle's public areas. As a member of staff you can Floo within the castle, and we ask that you leave the Floo in your quarters open to incoming calls at all times. We can do the staff tour another day once you've had a chance to settle in a bit. These are your quarters. You can discuss passwords with Professor Kelley." As the picture swung aside to reveal a heavy studded oak door, Minerva nodded to a portrait of a grave-looking man with a long grey beard, a black skull cap and an Elizabethan ruff, depicted in an alchemist's lab. 

"Professor Snape's rooms?" Hermione asked, sounding dubious.

"They are the rooms traditionally assigned to the Potions professor. They were once Severus's, but he—" Minerva shook her head. "Well, he won't be needing them again, will he?"

"But didn't Professor Slughorn have quarters on the third floor?"

"Yes, but _those,_ by rights, should have been allocated to the Defence Against the Dark Arts master. Albus would never have allowed Horace to have them if it hadn't kept Severus close to the Slytherins and allowed him continued access to his private lab. I thought we were overdue a return to the natural order." Minerva's mouth narrowed and her eyes showed disappointment. "If the thought of living in rooms that once belonged to Severus is so abhorrent to you—"

"No, Professor. It isn't that. I just didn't expect..." Hermione forced a wan smile. "I don't know. Professor Snape was such a private man, I wouldn't want to intrude on his inner sanctum."

Minerva gave a curt nod. "You needn't concern yourself about that. Severus transferred all of his personal effects to the headmaster's suite, and those furnishings appropriate to Slytherin's head of house have been swapped for more generic items. Of course the house-elves will help you, should you wish to make further changes. We don't have as much in the way of spare furnishings as we did before the Fiendfyre incident, but there were _some_ items in the attics. 

"This is merely a set of rooms," she continued. "They are perhaps somewhat smaller than those on the third floor, but they have their own private garden, and they have a lovely view out over the lake. I would not have assigned them to you if I didn't think you could be happy here."

"I'm sure I will be," Hermione assured her mentor, as Minerva pushed open the heavy door and stepped aside.

"I'll see you at dinner, Professor Granger." Minerva put a subtle emphasis on Hermione's new title, and the young woman beamed back at her for a few seconds. Once Minerva had rounded a corner in the castle's winding passages, Hermione settled the latest in a line of magically expanded handbags on her shoulder and entered her new home. 

* * *

Hermione placed a last book on the bottom shelf of the bookcase and pushed herself up to her feet. As she looked out at what was, indeed, a stunning view of the lake, she scratched distractedly at an itch on her palm before she caught herself and made a face at the grime on her hands. 

She frowned further when she remembered wiping sweat from her brow with those hands. Her eyes drifted to the clock on the mantelpiece. She just had time for a shower before dinner if she spelled her hair dry.

Grabbing a robe from her wardrobe, she unbuttoned her blouse as she crossed the living room, tossing it into the laundry hamper as she entered the bathroom.

The elves had apparently forgotten to take the dust sheet down from the mirror over the porcelain sink with its ornately carved Italian marble pedestal. Hermione reached up to tug it away, but though the sheet lifted, it seemed to be stuck to the mirror's frame. Hermione rolled her eyes as she shucked the rest of her clothes and turned her attention to the controls for the antediluvian plumbing. The sheet wouldn't go mouldy because of the steam from _one_ shower.

"I'm not deaf, you know," came a waspish tone from behind her as she spun the stiff, creaking taps over the bath. "Get this thing off me!"

Hermione lifted her wand from the bath's edge, where she had set it down as she got undressed, and threw a non-verbal Silencio at the draped frame. She wasn't going to be late for dinner on her first day because she was busy arguing with the furnishings. She padded down the steps into the sunken bath and pulled the plunger that diverted the water to the shower attachment. 

She was wrapping a towel around her hair when a smug "Hah!" issued from under the sheet. "Did you really think that would keep me quiet? I am a reflection of _you,_ you arrogant big-nosed spell-slinger. Anything you can do, I can undo."

 _"Big-nosed?"_ Hermione lifted the sheet enough to stick her head under it. "Who are you calling big—" Hermione froze as she stared at an image of Severus Snape, a towel wrapped turban-like around his head, and another larger one in a very manly shade of apricot tucked around his torso just below his armpits.

"Well, that's a new look for you," the mirror sneered, baring teeth that Hermione was sure were several shades more yellowed than even Snape's had been, "but then you do spend a lot of time with that old shirt-lifter. He must be rubbing off on you. Or wait, don't tell me, there's some pretty little new professor and you think you'll impress her with the softer side of Snape."

As the mirror prattled on, Hermione lifted a hand to the glass. Her fingertips met Professor Snape's. Her eyes widened and she swept the towel from her head. Snape's towel fell away, too, his damp hair plastered to his skull, as he wore an expression at odds with any she had previously seen him wear. Her hands pushed gently at the top of the larger towel and she rose up on tiptoe to try to get a better view, but the mirror was set rather higher on the wall than was optimal, and she could only see a few inches below Snape's sternum, whereas the Snape looking down from the frame could see right down her cleavage. Suddenly it came to her that she had actually been contemplating flashing her old professor and she staggered back until she was out from under the sheet. She spun on her heel and rushed from the room. She was going to kill George Weasley when she got a hold of him. 

* * *

Hermione slowed her steps as she approached the doors to the Great Hall and stopped to take a deep breath, tuck behind her ears a couple of curls that had escaped from their clips and straighten her robes.

Doing her best to project an untroubled facade, she entered the room and made her way to the single large table that had been laid out for the staff and their families. 

Her entrance resulted in a burst of activity from one corner of the table as two young blondes and their redheaded brother waved a greeting, despite their mother's admonition that they were getting too old for such behaviour.

Bill, on the other hand, simply smiled softly. "We'll have three sullen teenagers soon enough. Let them be kids for a bit longer."

Hermione nodded a greeting to some of the other familiar faces at the table and approached the group, ruffling the hair of each of the children affectionately before she bent to give Fleur a peck on the cheek. Under the guise of a hug she hissed in the eldest Weasley's ear. "Tell your brother next time you see him that his welcome joke is in poor taste."

Bill's eyebrows lifted, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. The eldest Weasley had traded in his ponytail for a buzz cut a year or two earlier when he'd begun to go thin on top, but he'd kept the earring and the same unflappable warmth that had always made him so easy to be around. 

"Anything I can do?" he asked equally sotto voce.

Hermione hesitated and then nodded. "Why don't you and Fleur drop by my quarters once the kids are in bed? The door's behind the painting of Edward Kelley. If I've already dealt with it by then, we can share a bottle of wine and catch up. If not, a Curse Breaker might be handy to have around."

She nodded to Hagrid, who was beckoning her over to the empty seat at his side. With a last backward glance to the battle-scarred Weasley and his Veela entourage, she circumvented those teachers with whom she was unfamiliar and took her seat next to the half-giant.

Hagrid saw the direction of her look and gave her a rueful smile. "Your Ron used to think _he_ had it bad with all those brothers."

"Romilda would kill you if she heard you call him _my_ Ron, but you're right. Bill and Fleur don't love Louis any less for being human, though. That's just the way things are when Veela have kids. Girls are one hundred percent Veela. Boys... take after their dads. You know, for years Harry insisted that Fleur was quarter-Veela. It never even occurred to him to wonder where all the Veela men were." She shook her head slightly and lifted her eyes to the ceiling. "Louis might not have Veela glamour, but he looks just like photos of his dad at that age. I don't think he will be short of female attention when he gets older."

Hagrid's beard twitched in a way that made Hermione sure there was a lopsided grin under it. "'Appen not. So, 'Ermione, what's it like bein' back a' the castle after all this time?"

"Aside from dealing with George Weasley's latest Wheezes?" Hermione muttered dryly. She nudged the half-giant gently with her elbow and met his gaze. "It's like coming home." 

Hagrid wrapped a huge arm over her head and gripped her waist, hugging her tightly to his side. "It's good to 'ave yer back."

* * *

The dust sheet turned out to be deceptively easy to deal with, no more than the reversal of a simple sticking charm.

"Good grief, man!" shrieked the mirror. "What on earth are you wearing? Those are witches' robes, and they're _brown!_ Brown, I say. Have you been playing truth or dare with that Malfoy blighter or something?"

"They are _not_ brown. They're russet, and they're witches' robes because _I_ am a witch!"

"Yes, I can tell," Snape sneered, his voice suddenly softer and more threatening as if he regretted being shocked into the earlier outburst. "That's why your cleavage is shown off to such fine advantage and you have an Adam's apple. As a Potion Master you can be as picky as you like about the difference between cerulean and turquoise. However, as a _man_ , when it comes to clothes, brown is brown and always will be. Ask any straight wizard, and, no, that doesn't include the albino fop. _This_ is why old Toby kicked seven shades of shit out of you when you put that Hobgoblins poster up in your bedroom and bought green nail varnish." 

The figure in the mirror tilted its head from side to side as if trying to get a better view. "You _aren't_ wearing nail varnish, are you?" He tugged at the neckline of his robes, as if to conceal the small patch of fine black hairs that was visible where the neckline of the dress gaped due to Snape's lack of breasts. "I thought I had at least another twenty years before you had your mid-life crisis, and I was rather hoping it would take the form of a disposable redhead or three. You know, shag them in rapid succession, maybe marry one, realise they'll never compare to the Ice Maiden, betray them the way you did her or just scare them off by being you, and then they take all your money and the last vestiges of your dignity and leave you even more of a broken shell of a man than you were. 

"It looks as if you skipped all the fun parts and just threw your pride to the giant squid."

"Will you shut up?" Hermione yelled at the mirror. 

"Why should I?" the mirror asked. "I'm simply saying what you're thinking. And you still haven't explained why you look like one of the ugly step-sisters."

"I'm _not_ you! And even if I were you, there would be no need for you to talk like that."

"Someone needs to—"

 _"Finite!"_

"Stop you—"

 _"Finite Incantatem!"_

"Getting ideas—"

 _"Finite Specialis!"_

"Above your station."

 _"Repeto glamour! Terminatio videor!"_

"Really?" the mirror sneered. "Are we going to go through all this again? What makes you think any of those will work now when they never worked before? You know the saying about the definition of insanity. I suppose that _would_ explain the dress, though."

Hermione drew in a deep breath and glared at the looking glass. _"Stupefy!"_ The figure in the mirror froze, its dark eyes seething with loathing. "Take that," Hermione spat, turning on her heel and slamming the bathroom door behind her. She stormed over to her new bookcases, pulling eight or nine books out. She deposited her precious load on the large desk she had set up in one corner of the room and opened up the first one at the index, running her finger down the 'M's until she arrived at the word mirror. 

* * *

"Let them in, Professor Kelley," Hermione sighed. "And keep anything the angels tell you about Mrs Weasley to yourself," she added as an afterthought. She remembered that according to Muggle history, it had been the suggestion, supposedly from the angel voices that he heard, that Edward Kelley and spiritualist John Dee should share everything - including wives - that had led to the dissolution of their partnership. Hermione suspected that any angels the man actually had heard were of the fallen variety.

"That doesn't sound like the voice of triumph," Bill remarked as he strolled down the hall into the living room, leading his wife by the hand and wrapping an arm around her shoulders once they reached the wider area.

"It isn't... and, you know, I'm having my doubts about George being behind this. That thing's not a joke. It's... cruel."

The former curse-breaker's smile slipped away, and he gestured at a sofa. "Tell your Uncle Bill all about it."

Hermione gave a derisive snort, though she closed her book. "You're not old enough to be my uncle. Anyway, I don't want to influence your opinion."

"Alright then, at least point me in the right direction."

Hermione gestured toward the closed door. "Bathroom. Help yourself. I'll stay out here — if you don't mind."

Bill directed a quizzical glance at his hostess and, freeing Fleur from his embrace, drew his wand from the back pocket of his dragonhide jeans. 

Fleur pulled her wand out from inside her robes and gave him a nod before they made their way to the room in question.

"Well, well," sneered Snape's oily tones. "Beauty and the Beast. You know, with a face like that, it would only be common decency to warn a mirror before you look in it?"

"My husband eez not a beast!" Fleur protested.

"Who said I meant him, you overgrown turkey?" retorted the mirror in a smug tone. 

"Incroyable!" 

"Oh come now, I can't be the only one to fail to fall at your feet in a simpering heap, even if this weak-willed Weasley is obviously besotted."

 _"Confringo!"_ screeched the Veela, and Hermione heard the sound of a loud detonation followed by the settling of debris and the hiss of water escaping a damaged pipe.

When Hermione arrived at the bathroom door, it was to find both Weasleys sprawled on the floor, Bill covering Fleur's body with his own as shards of tile, Italian marble and stonework formed a layer over them and finer particles clouded the air. Aside from a thin coating of dust, the mirror appeared unharmed, though the wall around it was deeply pitted.

"Bill, Fleur, are you alright?" she asked.

Bill lifted his head and nodded before he rolled away from his wife. "Shield charm," he sputtered between gasping breaths. He reached out a hand to stroke Fleur's cheek, and she, too, nodded and began to get to her feet.

"Love, why don't you go back to our rooms and check on the kids? I'm just going to give Hermione a hand with the clean up and do one little test, and then I think Hermione and I are going to go and speak to Minerva."

"Vraiment?" Fleur asked.

"Truly. We won't be doing anything without a lot more research."

The redhead ushered his rather dishevelled wife from Hermione's quarters, glared at Edward Kelley when he treated them both to a knowing look, and then stormed back to Hermione's bathroom. Once there, he ignored the spray of water, took up a position facing the mirror and began to chant in a language Hermione didn't recognise, if it was a language at all. When he stopped, a sickly brownish purple nimbus surrounded the mirror.

Resting a hand on either side of the washbasin's remains, the redhead leaned over the counter as if he needed its help to remain upright. He turned only his head toward Hermione, his expression grim. 

"Right, Hermione, you had better Floo Minerva and get her down here. Then, you're going to start from the very beginning, every detail, and make it good." 

* * *

"Professor McGonagall?" Hermione called, half-hoping that the older witch would be anywhere in the castle except the tower that housed her apartments.

"Minerva, dear," the matriarch corrected as her face appeared sideways in the flames.

"I— Em— Well, you might prefer Professor McGonagall when you find out why we'd like you to come through."

"Come through? And _who_ is we? And what have _'we'_ done?"

"I think you should. Professor Weasley and I. And, technically, it was actually Mrs Weasley, by which I mean Fleur, not Molly. Molly isn't here. But Profess—"

"Oh, stop babbling, girl, and step back," Minerva replied, in a tone of voice that said more clearly than mere words that she had seen and heard the worst that generations of witches and wizards had to offer and doubted very much that anything which involved sending for her, rather than a trip to the hospital wing, was really worthy of excitement. 

A second later Minerva stepped from the fireplace. Her cool composure lasted another second after that and then she got a proper view of Bill and the room behind him. "Your first day here?" she exclaimed. "Most of our Potions professors have at least waited until they had some students to take the blame before they blew up the castle."

"It's _my_ fault, Professor McGonagall," Bill interceded. "Hermione wanted to repair things and clean up before she Flooed, but I thought you should see this as it is, and it was Fleur and I who made the mess."

"Right, well, now that Professor McGonagall's here, I'll just get changed into... ehm... something more appropriate." Hermione dashed into her bedroom and closed the door behind her. 

It was one thing for _her_ to be confronted by Professor Snape in a dress, but she wasn't about to share that image with anyone else. She quickly pulled a pair of black jeans and an oversized black T-shirt that she wore as a nightshirt from a chest of drawers. Then, with just a touch of hesitation, she opened another drawer and pulled out a sports bra. That was as far as she would go to preserve Severus Snape's dignity. Bill and Minerva would be seeing the real her, as well as her evil mirror image, and she didn't think Fleur would appreciate a one-woman wet T-shirt competition. Beside which, Veelas only ever seemed to sag in their non-human form, so she was in no hurry to invite Bill to make a comparison. The public persona of Severus Snape should count his lucky stars she didn't put on a Wonderbra. 

* * *

Even though Hermione didn't dawdle over getting changed, Bill and Minerva had almost put the bathroom to rights by the time she lingered by the door.

"Hermione, why didn't you bring this to my attention immediately?" Minerva demanded as she vanished a mix of spilled toiletries.

"At first, I thought it was just a tasteless prank, professor. I thought George had arranged it, either for me, or because he thought Bill would be given these rooms. I didn't want to get him into trouble, or have you think I couldn't deal with a practical joke on my own."

"Well, it might be tasteless, but it certainly isn't a harmless prank," Bill cut in. "Fleur may have overreacted, but it's possibly a good thing that she did. Without seeing how impervious to damage this thing is, I probably wouldn't have considered checking for dark magic." 

"And?" both witches chorused.

"If we rate it on a scale of one to ten, with ten being the Unforgivables..." Minerva and Hermione both glared at him, their mouths thin, as he paused to consider. "This is about an eighteen. I've never come across anything like it."

Hermione's head fell as she released a long breath, and she stared at her feet. "I suspect that I have. I don't claim to understand it, either why someone like Professor Snape would have one, or why it's here in the open where it was bound to be found, or even why it's so vile— Compared to the real professor, I mean, but I know what it is. I think part of me knew almost from the start, but I just didn't want to believe it."

"Spit it out, girl!" Minerva barked impatiently.

"It's a Horcrux, professor."

"B-but— Why do you say that it's Severus's? You _don't_ mean— Not when he killed Albus?" Minerva seemed to wilt, and Bill stepped up and gripped her upper arms. Brushing Hermione aside, he ushered Minerva from the bathroom and supported her until they reached the living room sofa, where he lowered her into a seat. 

Hermione glared at the mirror frame, which at this angle reflected only tiled wall, realising she had temporarily missed her best opportunity to demonstrate _exactly_ why she thought the Horcrux was that of Severus Snape. 

Bill grabbed some Floo powder from the pot on the mantelpiece and tossed it into the flames. "Kitchens," he barked. "A pot of tea for three in Professor Granger's rooms, as quick as you can, please." He dusted off his hands and turned to Hermione. "Until then, maybe you can break out the booze?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Hermione directed her wand at the right cupboard and willed it to open. "Help yourself," she instructed the wizard, as she crouched before Minerva and took each of the older woman's hands in one of her own. "Minerva, I don't believe that Professor Snape made the mirror into a Horcrux after he killed Professor Dumbledore. He would never have had time. He left the castle straight afterwards, remember? If he _had_ wanted to make a Horcrux, then, he would have chosen something he could carry with him when he fled, something he could have ready just in case Voldemort reacted badly when he found out the professor had... done the task he had given to Malfoy. And I really don't think the professor would have made a Horcrux then. I'm not sure he would ever have made one, but _then?_ Do you really think that, expelled from the Order, hated by most of the Death Eaters because he was Voldemort's new favourite, reviled by the rest because he wasn't Pureblood, forced to watch in impotence as Voldemort tortured and killed, that the professor would have found life so appealing as to take such drastic measures? Or would he have done everything he possibly could to protect Harry, up to and including dying, and then hoped any debt to Harry's mother would be repaid?"

"You th-ink so?" Minerva asked, her voice cracking ever so slightly, her eyes sparkling damply.

Bill separated the women's hands and handed a tumbler with Gillywater to each of them. "Severus Snape had the sort of life most people would be grateful to see the end of," Bill opined. "At the time I was just as willing to believe the worst of him as the next man, but I figure Hermione's right." 

"You don't think he could do it?" 

The redhead took the seat beside his former professor and gazed into his glass as he continued. "It's not about whether he was or wasn't evil enough to do it. The bloke's like an Escher drawing, just when you think you know what side he was on, some other detail catches your eye and you find out you were looking at everything backward. It's about the fact he was so bloody miserable."

Bill took a measured sip from his glass. "I don't care what promises he made to Dumbledore, or how he felt about Lily Potter. _If_ he really had to, _if_ he felt he hadn't done all that was required of him, he'd have been better off coming back as a ghost and helping Harry that way, than making a Horcrux. All the same, an afterlife where he could at least have a hope of seeing Harry's mum, making some sort of peace with her, even if he couldn't be with her, or even the _hope_ of an afterlife would look a damn sight more enticing than the sort of half-life a Horcrux would give him. And it's not as if he had his own fanatics to chop off their appendages to spell him up a body; he'd have been trapped in that half-life forever, and he would know that. Whatever else you might say about Severus Snape, you have to know that if he even _contemplated_ making a Horcrux, he'd have thought his way around it from every damned angle." 

"Are you _sure,_ Hermione?" Minerva asked as if hoping the witch would recant her theory. Somehow the headmistress gave the impression that, having survived Severus Snape's apparent betrayal of the Order and Albus Dumbledore, having lavished him with hatred and disdain at every opportunity over his year as headmaster, and having discovered too late for any reconciliation the extent of both his loyalty and his sacrifice, part of her would break if her renewed faith in him proved unfounded.

Hermione sighed and took a sip of her Gillywater before she answered. "If it waddles like a Horcrux and quacks like a Horcrux, professor, the usual explanation is that it _is_ a Horcrux."

"Granted," Bill agreed, "and I have to bow to your expertise with those, but you—"

Bill paused as a quiet pop betrayed the arrival of the tea things, immediately followed by a rather shrilly exclaimed, "Bugger!" and then a much louder crack. 

Minerva squared her shoulders, and her voice took on a calculating tone. "Sissy, come here," she commanded.

There was a telltale sound of Apparition and a tall (by house elf standards) and slender elf stood beside Hermione, facing Minerva and Bill, her weight shifting on the ball of her right foot as she twisted her ankle left and right, almost in time with the wringing motions her hands were performing on her ears.

"Sissy, stop hurting yourself," the Scottish witch ordered not unkindly, and the elf's hands dropped to her sides. "Sissy has cared for Professor Snape since he first joined the Hogwarts staff," Minerva explained for the benefit of her younger colleagues. "Sissy, did you suggest to Footter that he should try to dissuade me from allocating these rooms to anyone?"

The elf made an attempt to kick her own shin as she responded with a wailing, "Ye-e-es."

"Sissy, I forbid you to punish yourself," Hermione interjected rapidly, hoping that the elf had to obey the orders of any staff member. Minerva had ordered the elf to stop hurting herself, but hadn't forbidden the elf to start again after a pause. 

Tears began to well in the elf's golden-green eyes, almost as if the order not to harm herself caused her untold misery.

"Sissy," Minerva continued. "Why didn't you want anyone in these rooms? It wasn't just because they used to belong to Professor Snape, was it?"

"No, professor." The tears began to trickle down the elf's cheeks, though she didn't sniff or blink or otherwise acknowledge their existence.

"Why?" Minerva coaxed.

"Sissy cannot," the elf wailed. "Sissy is forbidden to speak. All the elves is forbidden to speak."

Minerva took a deep breath. "I am ordering you as headmistress, Sissy. Tell me why you didn't want anyone in these rooms."

The elf dived to the floor, sobbing in earnest as she kicked her feet and battered her fists off the stone floor. "Sissy cannot!"

Minerva lifted her previously untouched glass to her lips and drained it in one. "Bugger indeed!" she muttered. 

Hermione tackled the elf, wrapping her arms around the flailing mass and drawing the creature into an ever tightening hug until the elf, with her limbs pinned, gave in to her sobs and lay limp in Hermione's embrace.

"Does that mean what I think that means?" Bill asked, his tone flat.

"I suspect so." Minerva's answer sounded even more bleak.

"So, whoever swore the elves to secrecy..."

"Was headmaster at the time." Minerva squared her shoulders and fixed a newly resolute gaze on Hermione. "I fear that this matter will not be resolved tonight."

"But we—" Hermione interjected. 

_"We_ nothing. Whatever is going on here, it has been going on for at least the last ten years. It _may_ be that we are dealing with the darkest magic any of us have ever come across. This thing _may_ be a Horcrux. It may even be _Severus Snape's_ Horcrux, in which case the protections placed upon it could be dreadful indeed — though we've yet to hear why you assume it might be so — but all we have at the moment are theories and supposition, and I am not about to pull a sword out of a hat and have at it until we have more information. That does not mean that I will allow you to be alone with the thing, Miss Granger. Now, pack an overnight bag. You're staying in my spare room. Bill, I would be grateful if you would take Sissy up to the infirmary on your way to your quarters. Poppy can decide if she needs a Calming Draught."

"Professor—"

"That is my final word, Miss Granger."

Hermione's brows drew together as she looked from the elf in her arms to the bathroom door and back to her mentor. She suspected that Minerva wanted to cut short her visit in order to privately entreat the portraits in her office for advice and information, hoping they would give a definitive explanation where Hermione could not. _Theoretically,_ it was a valid approach. The portraits were bound, _in theory,_ to serve the current headmistress, but Dumbledore's portrait had a habit of absenting himself or feigning sleep whenever that vow might run counter to his interest, and Severus Snape had never had a portrait.

Of course, if the mirror said or did something to attract Minerva's attention while Hermione was in the bathroom, collecting her toiletries, then that wasn't her fault. And if it didn't, then it wasn't her fault Minerva had cut her off before she could demonstrate.

"Very well," the younger witch responded, the words clipped as short as her patience. 

* * *

"And _where_ do you think you're going?" sneered a familiar high voice as Hermione shut the door of Minerva's guest room behind her.

"Not now, Professor Black, _please,"_ Hermione hissed. 

Phineas Nigellus lit his wand, illuminating one corner of the drear Scottish landscape in which he stood. "Yes, now, girl. I assume that your eagerness for silence indicates you are not merely making a trip to the facilities. And you of all people cannot deny me the courtesy of listening, not after your egregious treatment of my person. Though why I am even attempting to assist either you or that irritating old man is beyond me."

"Please, professor, if you can help, I'd love to talk to you, but can we meet somewhere else. You'll wake the headmistress."

"I doubt very much that McGonagall is asleep, or that either my voice or the light of my wand will carry to the hospital wing," Phineas retorted. 

Hermione gasped. "Has Minerva been hurt?"

"No, silly girl, she frequently dallies there. She _says_ she likes to discuss things with the Pomfrey woman."

Hermione's eyes widened. Was Phineas really implying what she thought he was implying about the headmistress and the matron?

"Now, if you would refrain from interrupting for five seconds, I can pass on the message I was asked to give you. Professor Dumbledore would like to meet you in the Room of Requirement at your earliest convenience."

"But—"

The wand light disappeared from the landscape and Phineas's voice was barely louder than a whisper. "Interrogate _him_ for the answers to your questions. I intend to spend the rest of the night in my other frame." 

"Tell Teddy and Andromeda I said hi," Hermione called after him somewhat belatedly. "And thank you." 

"I'm sure they'll be _thrilled."_

Hermione sighed, not looking forward the least bit to seeing Professor Dumbledore, liking even less the idea that she had been back half a day and was already made to feel like his pawn, but knowing she had little choice. 

* * *

"You were forbidden to return here alone," the mirror pointed out, its tone now resigned rather than superior or sneering.

"Not exactly," Hermione differed as she settled a high stool before the mirror, climbed onto it and settled in its padded seat. Once more, instead of her own reflection she saw that of Severus Snape. "Minerva said _she_ would not allow me to be here alone. There's a subtle difference."

The mirror's lip barely quirked. "You do not appear to be dressed for an execution?"

"The fluffy bath robe gave me away, I suppose?" Hermione gave the mirror a rueful smile. "I know you're not _him,_ but I thought you deserved an explanation... and I wanted to say thank you for everything you did for me, and apologise to you."

 _"I_ do not know you, madam. You owe me nothing."

"No, _you_ don't know me, but I hope that if I tell you, _he'll_ know after tomorrow."

"So you have your proof," the reflection stated. "You should not have come back here. Who on earth have they got teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts that they didn't warn you about the dangers of intimacy with a..."

"Horcrux?" Hermione finished for him. "Professor Weasley is going to be teaching DADA this year, but I have rather more experience with Horcruxes than he does, and I don't think you're dangerous."

"You don't think a Horcrux is dangerous!" the reflection almost screeched. "And I thought McGonagall would be more discerning when it came to hiring teaching staff than Dumbledore used to be. You're an imbecile!"

Hermione giggled. "You do realise that it's hard to take your warnings seriously when you're obviously as protective as your older self?"

"I'm an eighteen on a scale from one to ten," the mirror insisted.

"Oh, sir, _please!"_ Hermione gave a little shake of her head and let out an exasperated breath. "I'm a first year teacher, not a first year student. If I'm going to be scared of anything, it'll be what happens when I have first year Slytherins and Gryffindors in a room together, not a soul-fragment of someone I happen to admire and respect."

The reflection narrowed its eyes. 

"I'm not lying, professor, and I'm not trying to trick you."

"How can you admire and respect anyone who would stoop to magic like this?"

"How do you know _I'm_ not planning to be the next Dark Lord?" Hermione countered. "Maybe I admire you for your ability with the Dark Arts."

The reflection did not respond immediately, but simply regarded the enigma in front of it for several seconds. "You know, I believe you _do..._ Or at least you respect my knowledge, even if you would not approve of its practical application. The road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but one would have to let those intentions take you to far more dubious places than you have ever been, whereas by definition, for me to exist..."

"No, professor. That's why I need to explain—"

"As you pointed out, you are no longer a student, and there are few acts more intimate than the ending of a life — even half a life. If you are to end my existence, I believe it only appropriate that you call me Severus."

"I'm not sure the other you would approve, sir. He— That is to say, the older you, never seemed to like me very much. When he was my teacher, he called me... an insufferable know-it-all."

The reflection smirked and tapped his lips with a slender finger. "Did I? Did I indeed? Pray tell, Professor Granger, since I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage as I am unable to see what you look like, would you excuse an impertinent question, the answer to which my other self would already know?"

"Well, I suppose if you know anyway..."

"Firstly, I would be obliged if you could tell me the year as it seems I have been alone in these rooms for some time, and secondly, how old are you?"

"It's 2011, and I'll be thirty-two next month. Your standing as youngest staff member isn't under threat from me."

"Then, Hermione, as I believe your companions called you earlier, you must _definitely_ call me Severus."

"I don't understand. Why on earth would you want to be on first name terms with someone you don't even like?" 

"Where have you been since you graduated from here? A convent? I would hardly call you a know-it-all if you weren't intelligent and enthusiastic. I wouldn't call you insufferable unless you could get under my skin in some manner. You're twenty years my junior and you say that you respect and admire me. I doubt that I will discover what you look like, but it is unlikely that you would be _less_ attractive than I am. Circumstances being as they are, I can choose to imagine you any way I want. I can assume that you have learned to channel that enthusiasm into fields of endeavour not covered by the Hogwarts curriculum. Yes, it is self-indulgent, I am aware, but as you already knew that I am the pinnacle of evil, self-indulgence can come as no surprise, and as this will almost certainly be my last night on this earth, I view it as my prerogative to imagine I'm spending my final hours in the company of an attractive woman. Why in the name of Circe wouldn't I want you to use my first name?"

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Well, you see, this might not be your last night. I'm _hoping_ it won't be your last night. I don't think there's any way to guarantee it, but I think maybe there's a fifty-fifty chance."

The mirror gave a contemptuous snort. "Yes, because my good fortune in the past has been so reliable. Still, perhaps you could enlighten me as to your reasoning." There was the slightest of pauses before the reflection added, "Hermione."

"Are you sure? In some ways, it isn't a very nice story."

"Apparently I'm a Horcrux, you silly witch. That's hardly a recommendation for what a nice person I am. You seem to know about Horcruxes, so you know how I must have been created, and I gather from your conversation last night that my alter-ego did not limit himself to a single murder, or stick to his decision to turn from the dark."

"But you did, sir— I mean Severus. You didn't murder Professor Dumbledore, not really. You cut short what would otherwise have been a slow and painful death and spared him from Fenrir Greyback. You killed him, yes, but the Ministry held a trial in absentia, and in light of the extenuating circumstances and your service to the light, you were absolved of any blame. I'm guessing the other you wasn't exactly communicative, or you would know that he and Dumbledore planned it out between them. Dumbledore pressured him into agreeing almost as soon as he — Dumbledore — was cursed." 

"Fine. That still doesn't explain away why I exist."

"Merlin's beard! This is worse than arguing with Harry back before he decided the sun shone out of your backside. I was about to explain that when you interrupted to point out how evil you are. You see, you were never _meant_ to be a Horcrux at all." 

"And just what _was_ I meant to be?" the mirror enquired in a sceptical tone.

"You were designed to be a rather different sort of insurance," Hermione answered, following on with a sigh. "He should have realised the danger, but I'm not sure it would have stopped him, even if he had."

 _"He_ being my other self?" 

"He being Albus Dumbledore. _If_ you could refrain from interrupting, I will try to answer any questions you have at the end. As I said, it's not a pleasant story," Hermione said, her tone rather more gentle than the words themselves. "In fact, I'm here telling you about it in the middle of the night because Professor Dumbledore couldn't face Professor McGonagall. He made me swear that I wouldn't tell her any more than is absolutely necessary, though he admits that he has no right to put you under any such restriction once you know the truth." 

The face in the mirror grimaced, but also nodded.

"I assume that your memories are the same as those of your counterpart, up to November first, nineteen eighty-one. You met with Professor Dumbledore that morning. You were distraught. You had done everything you could to save Lily Potter. You had begged Voldemort to spare her, though you knew that showing an attachment to a Muggle-born would be held against you. You had asked Dumbledore to protect her, agreeing even though he demanded you turn against Voldemort, when surely he _should_ have protected them just because it was the right thing to do."

"I know—"

"No, you don't _know._ If you knew, _really_ knew, what I'm telling you, then we wouldn't be here. The facts may be stored away in what passes for your head, but in your heart you don't believe." Hermione's hands gripped at the side of the basin until her knuckles turned white. "I am _telling_ you that you did all you could, and Dumbledore may have reviled you for asking for Lily's life over that of her husband and son, but it was that request that allowed her son to live. You did all you could and Dumbledore and Voldemort _both_ let you down. 

"It's even almost understandable in Voldemort's case. He never understood how much you cared about her. He thought she was just a passing fancy. Dumbledore _knew,_ he knew that you would have done anything to keep her safe. He knew that there was a traitor close to the Potters. He _should_ have insisted on being their Secret Keeper himself. But the mind, even the mind of Albus Dumbledore, doesn't always see things rationally. It plays tricks and sees things in a less than impartial way.

"How much easier it must have been for Professor Dumbledore to blame someone else, and you were there to be such a convenient scapegoat. After all, _you_ told Voldemort about the prophecy. You had given your allegiance to Voldemort. Perhaps you hadn't raised your wand in their direction, but you must have hurt others. Never mind that you also warned him. So easy, too, for him to look at you and to see the things he hated about himself. And that, I think, is what made him do it.

"You see, when Dumbledore was around the age you were then, he fell in love, and unlike you he fell in love with someone who espoused the same sort of ideology as Voldemort, and he helped him make his plans and fooled himself that he and his lover would rule the world as benevolent dictators... until his sister was killed during a dispute between his brother and his lover.

"So much easier for him to look at you and see you as what he might so easily have become, so easy to say that you deserved everything because if _you_ hadn't told Voldemort about the prophecy, she and James would still be there. Almost understandable, for him to feel the need to anchor your feelings for Lily, knowing how separation and distance had allowed his perspective on his former lover to change, for him to fear that if you were to spy on Voldemort and his Death Eaters, he must ensure that your love for Lily would never be replaced by feelings for one of Voldemort's followers, because if you could cause such harm by loving a 'good' woman, who knew what you might be capable of if you gave your heart to someone like Bellatrix.

"Even if you were to develop feelings for a member of the Order, wouldn't you, in his mind, be likely to turn them from the light and draw them into the darkness? Or perhaps they might have the opposite effect on you. What if you were to marry and settle down, have children? Even if you happened to fall for a pureblood, so that it might theoretically still be possible to maintain your role as double agent, wouldn't you then be more concerned with protecting the people you loved, than with risking your life for information?

"I can only hope that his mind was off balance due to his own grief when he made the decision, that perhaps he was blind to the goodness that he had played his own part in battering down inside you, but he made the decision then to create the mirror. While you were lost in your grief, he performed a spell designed to take a part of your magic, so that later he could link it to the mirror. Little did he realise that broken as you were by your grief, and despite the facts of the case, believing in your heart that you were responsible for Lily's death, what he took was not just a piece of your magic, but part of your soul.

"Ideally, the magic he performed should have had your blood to key in on, but while you had been far too traumatised to notice him stealing your magic, you would surely have noticed if he had tried to take your blood, so, instead, he used his power as headmaster to tie the enchantment into the castle's wards. It would be enough, he decided, to tie the spell to the assigned occupant of your rooms. That's why we see each other as we do. Of course, he never intended this to happen. If you left, or you changed allegiance again, or when you died — because it stood to reason that a double agent, especially one so young and inexperienced, would hardly have a long life expectancy — the mirror could be destroyed. So, he worked the magic, getting the mirror ready for when you took up residence in the castle. The piece he took from you was taken at the height of your grief. It would, he thought, be an unchanging impression of you at that point in time. It would worship Lily. It would hate and despise you for having failed her. It would never let you forget. But he had to make some adjustments. Firstly, the reflection would have to age as you aged, would have to alter its appearance if, for example, you chose to cut your hair short. 

"However, he also made a few other changes to help ensure his ultimate aim. He exaggerated certain of your features, just a little, not enough that if you saw your reflection elsewhere you would be sure about the differences. He made your nose appear just a bit larger, a little more hooked. He made your teeth more yellow, because, surely, if no matter how much you brushed them they never looked any better, then you might neglect them more. He made your hair look limp and greasy, even straight out of the shower. In short, he did everything he could to convince you that any woman would have to be desperate to ever find you desirable.

"And, I suppose that, for all that, even if I can't imagine ever forgiving him, I can just barely understand how he might have justified it to himself. You see, he never did give up on that idea of 'The Greater Good'.

"What I'll never understand is that even as the two of you grew closer over the years, even as he came to trust you as much as he ever trusted anyone — it's so hard to tell with Dumbledore, but I think it's likely that he began to care for you even — what's completely incomprehensible is that he forgot what he'd done."

Severus's mouth first fell open and then stiffened into the thinnest of lines. "He tortured me for my entire adult life and it just slipped his mind?" the reflection demanded.

"So it would seem," Hermione agreed. "Though, technically, he set things up for you to torture yourself, and I'm guessing that you did it far more thoroughly than he ever anticipated." 

Severus snorted. "I doubt he minded. He never did think I deserved any better..."

"I know he let you down, Severus. I know he allowed James and Sirius to make your life hell when you were a pupil here, but I happen to believe that you won his respect. And, honestly, if you did or you didn't, there was no other teacher who did more to protect the children in his care. I know that as far as you're concerned I'm just a total stranger and my opinion can't mean as much to you as his does, but..."

"But my older self has your respect and admiration as well as your gratitude," the mirror replied, suddenly sneering again. 

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she ran back over her last few words. "For Nimue's sake, you're really going to bite my head off just because I know that James Potter and Sirius Black were a pair of arrogant little gits with as big a sense of entitlement as your mate Malfoy's spawn? Well, if you think that's going to get you the explanations you want, you can forget it." She rested one hand on the stool's back and moved her weight to the crossbar a few inches from the ground, standing up.

"Fine! Stay." The mirror made a visible effort to eradicate its scowl.

Hermione stepped down to floor level and was half-way to the door before he added, "Please." She turned, but could see only tiled wall in the mirror, and so she slowly returned, tiptoeing for no logical reason, until she could once again see the face of her former teacher.

"It's not your fault that you know of my humiliation at the wands of Black and Potter. It just—"

"Puts you on the defensive," Hermione finished for him. "Truthfully, all I know is that James and Sirius, with Peter Pettigrew's occasional help, were a bunch of bullies, and Remus Lupin never did anything to stop them. I don't know any details. All I know is that whatever they did, it... wasn't nice. That, and it was enough to make you believe that all Gryffindors were cruel, biased and vainglorious, that they would always lie their way out of trouble and never receive their just deserts. Or at least that most of them were. I sometimes had the feeling that even though you would get mad at me, you tended to regard me as having been led astray, rather than believing me to be the root of the problem." She hesitated as if waiting for him to make a scornful remark now that she had shown her true house colours.

He shook his head at her as if disappointed. "Hermione, it would have been obvious you were a Gryffindor from the minute McGonagall started fussing over your welfare, even if you hadn't been friendly with a Weasley."

"And you don't mind? I mean with the whole condemned man, pretending I'm beautiful thing."

"I— Ehm— Well, I suppose that what can come over in the Gryffindor male as unwarranted arrogance, can, when tempered by feminine compassion, manifest as a desirable fieriness of spirit."

The halting, somehow adolescent confession drew a genuine beaming smile from Hermione. _"That_ has to be the nicest thing you've ever said to me," she responded, aware of the heat that flushed her cheeks and throat.

The Severus in the mirror kept his head decidedly downcast, his hair, much longer than Hermione had ever known it in real life, covering his entire face. "As a teacher, it would hardly have been appropriate to make such a remark, even when the difference in ages between myself and the older students was sufficiently negligible for such physical desires to be... natural. Certainly, I would hope that, by the time I reached my thirties and you began your magical education, I would have outgrown any attraction to my charges." 

"You certainly never gave any impression of impropriety," Hermione admitted. "I don't think anyone ever replaced Lily in your affections, though I do have reason to believe you didn't remain completely celibate. I can't say whether that was because you wanted it that way, or whether you did it to make Voldemort _think_ you had forgotten Lily, but I wish..." Hermione swallowed.

The figure in the mirror tossed his head, shifting the hair away from his face and raised an eyebrow.

"You wish?"

"It doesn't matter, sir."

"Indulge me."

"Just that I wish you could have had more than that. Maybe you weren't a _nice_ man, and I guess if I had been the same age as you, I might not have liked you any more than I liked Draco Malfoy when I grew up with him. I do think that by the time I knew you, though, you were a _good_ man, and that's far more important than being nice. I wish you could have loved someone who had it in them to love you in return. You were exceptional in so many ways, and, yes, flawed and bitter, too, but it was such a waste. I know Dumbledore wanted things to happen the way they did... You just deserved better." 

"I killed her, Hermione," the mirror answered sadly. "I hurt her. I drove her away and I killed her. There's no reason to believe that if I _had_ loved again, it would have worked out differently." 

"People can change. You _changed,_ Severus. Listen to me. _You_ are not him. Tomorrow, or actually later today, either I or Bill or both of us will free you from this mirror—"

"You apparently have a unique gift for euphemism. I thought Gryffindors were meant to speak plainly. Perhaps you truly belonged in my house," the mirror replied in a snide tone.

"Oh, belt up! I am _not_ playing with you. I'm not trying to fool you, and you damn well know that we can't have a Horcrux sitting around in a school."

"But I thought I was harmless?" the mirror sneered.

"Please, Severus, hear me out. I know that if you've been flirting with me, at least since you found out I wasn't you, it's because I'm here and I'm female, you can imagine that I'm a drop-dead gorgeous green-eyed redhead and you think you won't have to face me after tomorrow or maybe you even hope that I won't have the heart to destroy you when the time comes. I know it's meaningless flattery and that _you_ love Lily. I know how you speak to yourself. I won't falter when the time comes, because I _do_ believe that I will be freeing you. Severus, you wouldn't hate yourself the way you do if you didn't feel remorse, and that remorse is good. That remorse could be the key to your survival, but only if you can keep an open mind. If you're blinded by self-hatred, then there's no hope."

"You're spewing nonsense, girl."

"No, I'm not. You, twenty-one year old you, will be freed tomorrow. _Listen_ to me," she seethed as she sensed the Horcrux's withdrawal. "You have a chance, a very good chance, in my opinion, of being reunited with the other half of your soul. I think Lily's death was the biggest regret of your life and _that_ could allow you to be whole again. It could also be that the process is so painful that it kills you."

 _"Kills me?"_ The mirror suddenly held her pinned with his Stygian stare. "You mean that I am not already dead? I thought— Didn't McGonagall say—"

"You were dead?" Hermione gave a long sigh. "I thought you would know. You aren't dead, Severus, not quite. You were badly hurt on the day Voldemort was finally defeated. I admit we thought at the time that you had been killed, but we screwed up. You had been paralysed by a venomous bite and you slipped into a coma. The Healers at St. Mungo's tried everything. I even tried to research a cure once I qualified as a Potions Mistress, not that I was allowed to see you, just copies of your medical file, but nothing helped. 

"Severus, it's been fourteen years and your condition has never changed. Finding out about your Horcrux is the first reason we've had to hope in years, but only if you can believe in who you've become. Only if you're strong enough to withstand the rejoining process. Only if you can give him a chance and get to know the man you are now, rather than going into this with the idea he deserves your hatred. I can't force you to come back. I can't guarantee that if you do, you'll be happier now than you were before. All I can say is that Voldemort is gone for good and any debt you owed to Lily Potter has been discharged as fully as it ever can be. If you can forgive yourself, then you have a chance to make a new life. You just have to fight for it." 

"It seems to me that it would be a lot easier to slip away," Severus remarked, doing his best to make it sound offhand.

"It would," Hermione admitted as she stepped down from the stool and drew her robe more tightly about her. "I couldn't even blame you if you feel that you've earned that peace." She rested her hands on the stool back and squared up to the mirror. "The Severus Snape that I knew was always more interested in doing things well than doing them the easy way, though." She walked to the bathroom door.

They both spoke at the same time. 

"Goodn—"

"Hermione?"

After a self-conscious pause from them both, Hermione cajoled him into speaking again. "Yes, Severus?"

"What are you like?" She had never heard him speak so softly unless his tone had been tinged with menace. 

She leant against the doorframe, finding it easier to speak when she didn't have to meet that all-penetrating gaze. "I'm like the girl your other self once knew. Older, wiser, perhaps a little bit sadder, but basically the same."

"Will you be there?"

"If you ask for me. Your hospital room used to be under guard. For your protection, I mean, not to keep you in. I can't imagine they still have two Aurors at the door this far down the line, but I doubt anyone can see you without special permission. Still, if you want me around once you remember who I am, then ask, and if they let me, I'll come. Of course, if you want me to stay once I get there, you'll have to refrain from aiming your nastier barbs in my direction, but I'll come. I think Minerva would, too." She straightened again, and with a flick of her wand she dowsed the bathroom lamps.

"Goodnight, Severus," she whispered. Then she turned on her heel and made her way back to Minerva's quarters. Maybe what she heard as she walked along the hallway that led to Edward Kelley's portrait was just a curtain blowing in a draught, or maybe a piece of Severus Snape's soul wished her farewell. 

* * *

"I can't say, Minerva," Hermione sighed, trying to avoid looking in the direction of the empty frame behind Minerva's desk. "I gave my word, but I have it under good authority that there are no curses as such on the mirror other than the one that makes it a Horcrux. I take full responsibility for anything that happens if I'm wrong."

"It's not a matter of who gets the blame—" Minerva interjected, but Bill Weasley cut through her objections.

"I'll stay with Hermione. I understand that you feel a duty as headmistress, but you know I won't let anything happen to her. You should be at St. Mungo's — just in case. Someone should be with him."

Minerva turned her direct gaze firstly onto Bill and then onto Hermione as if assessing them both, and then she spoke. "Severus is no longer in St. Mungo's. He was moved into private quarters off the hospital wing here after the second year. Once they gave up on finding a cure, there was no more reason for him to remain at St. Mungo's. Poppy felt it would be better if he was cared for here by her and Sissy, rather than left to the mercy of strangers and former pupils. Needless to say, Kingsley didn't object when it freed up two Aurors."

Suddenly Phineas's comment about the headmistress hanging around the hospital wing made a different sort of sense. 

"In that case, you'll only be a Floo call away," Bill insisted. 

"If he recovers, he'll need a friendly face," Hermione suggested softly. "And if it goes the other way..."

"I need to be there," Minerva admitted finally. 

"The sword may not be effective unless you 'win' it," she added.

Hermione gave a gentle shake of her head. "No need." She reached into an inside pocket of her robes and pulled out a polished mahogany box just a bit deeper than one of Ollivander's wand boxes, but otherwise similar in size. She tapped the lid with her wand, whispering, _"Alohamora Specialis!"_ The box gave a quiet clunk of metal against metal, and Hermione undid the clasps at either end and opened it up to show a curved yellow fang resting on a contoured velvet base. "Harry, Ron and I each kept one ever since..." 

"In that case," Minerva said, rising from her chair, her tone brusque, "I see no point in dithering. I believe I'm needed elsewhere."

* * *

Hermione grimaced as Bill drew in the last few characters of the protective sigil in permanent marker. It was only five foot across at its outer edges, leaving a scant three foot inner circle where Bill now stood. Once Bill imbued it with a portion of his magic, however, it did form an impenetrable magical barrier.

Hermione lifted her eyes to the reflection before her. "Are you ready, Severus?"

"As I'll ever be, though I'm rather puzzled as to your changes to the decorations. I understand that the idea is for Weasley to withstand any instantaneous magical effects which occur when the mirror is destroyed, but doesn't that leave everyone in the castle other than him potentially vulnerable?"

"As we can't move the mirror to a more remote location, the only other option was to add a circle around me and the mirror. Call me crazy, but I didn't want to be the only warm body you could reach when you go free, not after seeing what having Voldemort in his head did to Harry. We believe that without any barriers between you and your physical body, if you concentrate on reuniting your soul, you'll be drawn straight there. Besides, if there's some sort of blast, we didn't want it to be given additional force by setting it in a confined area. And the only people in the castle other than us are those who know exactly what's happening, and have chosen to be at your side. Minerva sent all the others away. She'll summon one of the house-elves when it's safe."

"I see," Severus answered, sounding resigned. "And you're not concerned about certain Muggle superstitions?"

"Seven years bad luck? I'll take my chances." She donned a pair of shoulder-length dragonhide gloves and set a pair of goggles over her eyes.

"If I were to survive, I might consider myself honour bound to do whatever is within my power to mitigate such effects." The figure in the mirror used a casual tone.

"If you survive, I might let you." Hermione smiled sadly. She flicked open the catches on the wooden box which rested between the washbasin taps and took out the basilisk fang.

The figure in the mirror gave a curt nod. "It has been a pleasure," he told her, his eyes holding hers as she pressed the tip of the fang to his chest.

The mirror didn't shatter, not at first. Instead, venom oozed from the fang's point and the glass simply melted away in an ever-widening, slightly irregular circle, like black ink added to water, the venom spread over the silvery surface, eating away first the glass and then the wooden backing. Hermione craned her neck, as it ate away Severus's face, hoping to keep one last glimpse of fathomless eyes, but pride kept her counterpart stoicly in place as mouth, then cheeks and nose then eyes were swallowed up by the venom.

Only when mere fragments were left in the frame edges did they fall unsupported from the ornate gilt border into the basin to break into slivers, which in their turn melted away.

In the end, all that remained was the frame and about the top third of the backboard around a rough-edged hole. Hermione reached up, lifting the remains down from the wall.

Then came the cry.

* * *

With a graceful movement of her wand, Minerva guided the Mobilicorpused body of her one-time pupil back to its bed, once more washed and ready for day. The body, always lean, was now painfully gaunt, its muscles atrophied from disuse, its loose braid of crow-black hair almost touching the floor as it hovered three feet above the floor.

She settled it to the mattress with motherly care and pulled the crisp white sheet and soft cotton blanket that Sissy had prepared up to his chest, resting his arms on top of the covers.

"Miss Granger really believes that this will work?" Poppy enquired softly from her spot at the foot of the bed where she dutifully updated the inches-thick chart before hanging it back on the metal frame.

"Believes? No, I think not. There are too many variables. Wants to believe? That's a different matter." The black-haired witch sighed. "She has the right of it, though. At worst, he continues as he is. At best, we have him back and a chance to make right all those mistakes. And if he moves on from this world, then at least he does so as his own master, owing nothing to anyone."

Sissy climbed onto the chair that was positioned by one side of the bed, standing on the seat so that she could take one of the cold hands in her own and gently stroke its back. Minerva sat down opposite her and did the same. "Master is strong. Master has fought for so long. Master will come back to us," she said, her high little voice full of certainty. 

"Sissy," Poppy answered softly, "Professor Snape's brain may have been damaged by the venom. Even if he awakens, he may not be as he once was."

"Master is strong," the elf repeated, and as she had her final word the body in the bed began to tremble from head to foot. Sissy tightened her grip on the bony hand as the trembling became jerking, less like shivers and more like someone in the grip of some sort of fit.

"Come back, Master Sir. Come back," the elf whispered by his ear, as she climbed ontot the bed without ever letting go his hand. She knelt atop his chest, using her pitifully small weight to try to stop her master from hurting himself as his body thrashed. 

"Severus?" Minerva's plea was heartfelt. "Come back to us."

And in that instant the body bowed and stiffened. From its very soul — because such a noise could not possibly have come from vocal chords unused for over a decade — came a sound that was half howl, half scream, all agony, and it seemed as if the very walls of the castle picked it up and echoed it, sending it further and wider than even the booming words of Voldemort during the final battle. On and on it went. 

Tears began to tumble their way down Minerva's cheeks, wending left and right through the lines left by age and experience.

Sissy had flattened herself against her master's chest, still holding one hand in hers, but wrapping her other arm around her master's neck in fear that she might be thrown off as the pain continued to make the body arch as if it were connected to high-voltage wires, only his toes and the back of his head in contact with the mattress.

Aeons seemed to pass before the keening slowly faded and the body gradually lost the tension that had kept it rigid and lay flat in the bed again.

Poppy immediately rushed up to the side of the bed, performing a barrage of informational spells more from rote than conscious volition. Finally, she lifted each eyelid in turn and as she raised the second she felt the muscles under her finger resisting.

"He's trying to talk," Minerva pointed out joyously as she sprang to her feet with the energy of a much younger woman.

Poppy spun on her heel to fill a glass of water from a nearby pitcher, knowing that all evidence to the contrary, his mouth would be too dry for words. Gently, she held the glass to his mouth, Sissy having crawled backward down to the foot of the bed to watch. When he had taken three small sips she took it away.

Severus's lips moved again. Just one word before he dropped back into sleep, but this time a natural, healing sleep. 

"Herm-i-on-e." 


End file.
